


so much to fight for

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Popsicles, sweet jesus that's really a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama Tobio daydreams about volleyball, most of the time, stares at his empty notebook and imagines tiny little stick figures executing perfect tosses and oddball quick strikes. And when he doesn’t, it’s Hinata Shouyou he thinks of: Hinata’s smile and Hinata’s laugh and the way the sweat makes Hinata’s jersey stick to his back after a match.</p><p>(In which Kageyama is a sweetheart, Hinata is Hinata, and there are spaghetti-flavored popsicles.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	so much to fight for

Kageyama Tobio daydreams about volleyball, most of the time, stares at his empty notebook and imagines tiny little stick figures executing perfect tosses and oddball quick strikes.

And when he doesn’t, it’s Hinata Shouyou he thinks of: Hinata’s smile and Hinata’s laugh and the way the sweat makes Hinata’s jersey stick to his back after a match.

It’s the last period of the day. Above the blackboard the clock’s double tongues tick out a steady beat. _Two-fifty-six,_ it hisses tauntingly. _Four more minutes until club activities start._ The weather’s just starting to get hot again and the air conditioning unit in the classroom is broken. The teacher is going on and on about sine waves, and even on his best days this kind of complicated maths is sort of beyond Kageyama.

On days like this when his head is bursting at the seams with _hinatahinatahinata_ and all he can focus on is the beetle slowly making its way up the wall—

Well. It’s safe to say that most of what’s going in one ear is coming out the other.

He slumps down on his desk, tries to ignore the feeling of his own hot, sweaty skin against his face. The teacher’s voice is a steady drone in the back of his head, like white noise. He wishes someone would open the windows already: the whole room feels like a sauna and stinks of the body odor of thirty-odd teenagers.

That's not the problem, though.

The _real_ problem is that Kageyama knows how confessions work.

He’s in high school, for god’s sake, of course he does. He’s seen enough of these things pan out to know what he’s supposed to do, but.

He cringes.

Kageyama imagines himself putting a flowery little note in Hinata’s shoe locker after school and wishes he could scream. For Christ’s sake, he’s not a _girl_. And what if Hinata thinks he’s being confessed to by a girl and shows up expecting some cute little thing in a short skirt and thigh-high socks? Kageyama pictures Hinata’s stunned, disgusted face and grits his teeth.

So maybe this is going to be harder than it sounds.

.

Practice is wonderful. Practice is _always_ wonderful. The air is thick with volleyball mania and Kageyama’s shoes skid on the court as he tosses the ball up in the air for Asahi to spike. Asahi is the poster child for gentle giants but his hands are strong and his spikes are always powerful.

“Hey, throw me one!” Tanaka yells, so Kageyama tosses the next ball to him.

This, Kageyama thinks, is what he lives for. This is what he was born to do.

He can’t even describe how much he loves volleyball.

Kageyama watches Hinata practice his receives with Nishinoya. The two of them are so energetic it’s almost comedic.

(When Hinata finally manages a good one and grins so wide it almost splits his face in half, Kageyama’s knees go so weak he nearly falls over.)

.

The changing room afterwards is a hive of activity. Daichi, every bit the capable captain, talks about their schedule for tomorrow’s practice (stamina training for the first twenty minutes, damn it, _why exactly_ does Nishinoya look so ecstatic) and Sugawara’s eyes follow him as he paces across the room. Tsukishima stands by his locker with Yamaguchi and folds his shorts quietly, snickering every so often. Tanaka and Nishinoya enthuse over the beauty of the volleyball club’s esteemed female manager.

In other words, business as usual for the Karasuno boys’ volleyball club.

Kageyama lingers for a little while and corners Hinata once everyone’s left.

“Hinata,” he says tersely, and there’s determination swelling in his chest. It’s stupid to get so worked up about asking Hinata to hang out after school when they do it pretty much every week, but this time is different. From the other boy’s expression, the look on his face must be terrifying, but Kageyama doesn’t care, not right now anyway. He takes a deep breath, forces himself to smile a little. _“Want to get ice-cream?”_

Hinata blanches. He’s still a little sweaty from practice and he’s halfway through with buttoning up his shirt.

“Um,” he says, eyes wide. “Okay. Sure.”

“Great. Okay, great,” Kageyama says, relaxing a little. “My treat, yeah?”

“ _Really_?” Hinata beams, terror temporarily forgotten. “Sweet!”

It’s working, Kageyama thinks, thrilled. He can’t seem to work out why, but the somewhat unhygienic floor of the locker room has never looked more beautiful.

.

They get their popsicles at the local FamilyMart that’s about a five minutes’ walk from the school. It’s evening and the sky is starting to darken to a subdued Egyptian blue. In the distance Kageyama can hear cars going by, a quiet rumble filling the empty spaces between words.

Hinata walks just a little bit faster than Kageyama, one hand in his trouser pocket and the other around his popsicle stick. His gakuran shifts with every step he takes.

“That’s disgusting,” Kageyama says, eyeing Hinata’s weird limited edition Gari-Gari Kun spaghetti-flavored popsicle. Hinata shrugs.

“But regular old soda-pop flavor is so _boring_ ,” he says with a grin, and takes a lick.

“How does it taste?” Kageyama is morbidly curious despite himself.

“Awful,” Hinata says. “Like sugary spaghetti. On a stick.”

Kageyama snorts, and doesn’t reply. The popsicle goes in the next trashcan they pass.

The evening breeze is cool against the back of his neck. They fall into a companionable silence, the two of them, alone under the power lines in small town Karasuno. They’re walking without purpose or direction: Hinata doesn’t have to be home until seven, and Kageyama’s parents are on a business trip.

“So,” says Hinata finally, and stops so suddenly that Kageyama almost crashes into him. “What was it you wanted? Earlier, I mean.”

“Ah.” Kageyama feels himself flush tomato red. He’s not very good with words, and for a second his courage almost deserts him. He looks down at his shoes, and when they offer no solution, he looks back up at Hinata’s face. “I, um.”

He stops, awkwardly, and immediately feels so frustrated that it makes him _angry_. Something inside him rears up its head and hisses.

“I like you!” he spits out, almost shouting.

Then he deflates and looks away, a little embarrassed.

When he finally brings himself to look at Hinata again, the other boy is smiling.

“Christ,” says Hinata. “That’s it? You looked like a demon back there in the changing room. I thought I’d done something awful.”

This is possibly the most infuriating answer that anyone has ever given in the history of mankind, that annoying little shit.

“Shut up,” Kageyama says. “I want an proper answer.”

“I kind of… thought you already knew the answer?” Hinata laughs, a little embarrassed, and threads one hand through his hair. The other hand he slips into Kageyama’s with this obnoxious little wink that's so _Hinata_  it almost hurts. “Do you?”

Kageyama’s heart feels like it could burst out of his chest. He smiles— a real, genuine smile this time. “I guess I do,” he says. “I guess I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> On another note, Gari-Gari Kun's spaghetti flavored popsicles really do exist. They also have corn potage and cream stew flavored popsicles. Yes, really. I do my research sometimes.


End file.
